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Happy Jesus on a stick day. A day that is all about honouring someone who died so that we can all be perverts and animals, but you can’t eat steak, in case some is made of him.

In honour of Jesus dying I’ve compiled an XI of players who died, and were then reborn, or you know, other Christian type shit. Jesus, as we all know, was a wicket keeper.

S Katich – Found himself in a cricket career cave due to some horrific test form, but then his God, Bob Simpson, helped him, and thankfully we now have Katich shuttling around the crease for days on end.

M Sinclair – Impossible as it is to enjoy the way he plays, Sinclair is the one cricketer most likely to survive Sodom and Gomorrah. When the Kiwis are having a selectorial apocalypse, it is Sinclair they turn to. He will always live with us.

I Bell – If Bell truly was the son of God, Christianity would have died out by now. Instead Bell seems ordained by some higher power, perhaps Murdoch, to play the number 3 position for England. He coveted it while he had to wait out Pestilence (Shah), War (Bopara) and Famine (Trott) but he found his way back to number three.

M Hussey – Has never left heavenly earth, but what exactly was he doing between the age of 12 and 30.

K Pietersen – An outcast with his old religion he became the father, son and holy bail of a new one. It still hasn’t been smooth sailing, but he no longer has to bowl off spin, so that is good.

K Akmal – Crucified on the pitch for one of the most heretical displays of wicket keeping ever written about. But he will be back, you can’t keep a Pakistani cricketer away for too long. Even if he comes back as a kolpak.

N Hauritz – Outbowled by M Clarke and then shunned by his country, his state, and his knew state. One day four wise men decided to pick him up from the gutter he found himself in, and bugger me if he hasn’t stayed around since then.

S Bond – Needed to go on a spiritual adventure to India so that one day he could come back to New Zealand and tell them he was available for white ball games and then continued his spiritual adventure in India.

A Mendis – The man is full of mystery, but once you work it out, it is all kind of simple and you don’t really care anymore.

A Nehra – From a world cup final to the great abyss, but thanks to Lalit K, Nehra has been brought back so that we can all pray at his long limbs and permanent angry face.

J Patel (12th) – Is so good at being 12th man I couldn’t see why he wouldn’t do it for Jesus.

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It should be noted that I have no problem with Freddie not signing his ECB contract. White ball games, even international ones, are about fat cash, and why shouldn’t a player make some big bucks when people like Freddie have been used as money mules for Giles Clarke and his foppish hair.

There is no integrity in white ball cricket outside of the world cup, and even the ICC find ways to fuck that up, so if someone’s body honestly can’t get through 5 days of cricket, and he has showed that he is willing to push his gimpy frame to the limit to try (not just pull out all the time Jacob), then I can’t stay mad at him.

I would have liked Freddie to be a bit more honest, don’t give us shit about wanting to improve your game by playing all over the world, just come out and say, “bitch please, it’s about the Benjamins”.

However all this talk about him being an 18 million dollar player and the first globetrotting 2020 cricketer seems a bit stupid.

Dirk Nannes has already played for 5 2020 sides around the world without being freelance.

And Freddie is not that good at 2020 cricket.

In 7 international T20 games he has 76 runs, and 5 wickets at 32 (good econ of 6.44).

In domestic t20 he has a batting average of 24, but his bowling record is much better, average of 20, econ of 6.96.

Those are not the numbers of a 2020 superstar.

For Chennai he was a waste of space. Him and Oram clogged up the middle order time and time again, and he also went the distance with his bowling a couple of times.

Even when he played for the world XI he was only average.

Part of Freddie’s brilliance comes from the fact he puts in everything he has when representing Lancashire and England, two places he loves dearly.

I doubt he has a real deep-seated love of Natal, South Australia or Chennai.

Then compare him Andrew Symonds as a freelancer.

Symonds averages 48 in international T20 cricket, and 45 in domestic t20. Plus he can bowl a couple of overs, and when fit (which both men may never be again) is a predator in the field.

He’s a 2020 destructor, and his average IPL team won the title with him starring.

Chubby Chandler get people talking about 18 million dollar 5 year plans, bungee jumping and 5 continents, but eventually people will talk about Freddie on the field, and if he doesn’t lift his 2020 game, he might find himself on a celebrity dancing show.

“Andrew Flintoff’s right-knee injury was reviewed today by his specialist in conjunction with the ECB and Lancashire medical teams. The advice received was that the swelling in his knee has significantly eased following the decision by the England management team to rest him from the last Test and that subject to further rest and intensive treatment, he will be available for selection at The Oval.”

There seems to be mixed messages going on about Freddie at the moment.

Either that or the definition of “fit” seems to be a fluid concept depending on who is using it.

This is what I wrote when he was limping around Edgbaston:

“Right now Freddie is walking towards me like a man looking for a zimmer frame, yet he is fielding at long on…”

Something is going on.

I have no idea what, but I figure I could accidently stumble onto it eventually.

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Before this Ashes series I thought Freddie was only good for cameo performances, then he announced his retirement, and while I didn’t write it, I thought maybe he could do slightly more.

Today he did. Way more.

Australia would have won this test had Harmy, Bresnan or Ronnie Irani been playing.

He was the difference between the sides.

Watching him run in for over after over with a knee that seems to have no cartilage left in it was herculean enough, but then to take the three most important wickets in this innings, and crush the tail was a super human effort.

His spell just seemed obscenely long. After every over I said he must be taken off.

He never was.

You couldn’t really take him off, he was presence.

His knee must now be ratshit, but who cares, he wasn’t ever coming off.

At the other end was a line of faceless imitators.

They were coming in to bowl, but they had no drama, no pulling power, and no personality.

It was all at Freddie’s end.

Swann even took the wickets of the two best batsman.

But it wasn’t the same.

The crowd were shouting Freddie’s name, and they were right to do so.

Being at the ground made you feel like you were at some ancient altar.

It was Freddie’s place; it was Freddie’s game, and fuck you if you didn’t want to bow done before him.

Lord’s was his, and by force of personality and through all pain barriers he was bowling until Australia lost.

That takes a special player.

Sitting, and standing when he took a wicket, in the ground all I could think of was what we had missed from him.

Why had he not had this sense of occasion throughout his whole career, we saw it for 2 years, and only occasionally for the rest of the time.

Because being there, even when your side lost, was fucking amazing.

Sure I am supposed to be disappointed, but fuck me, his energy and power just wins you over.